


My Lips Ain't Sealed

by amazingpages



Series: Tumblr Fics [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Established Relationship, Hurt Derek, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Stiles Has A Big Mouth, Stiles Takes Care Of Derek, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:49:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amazingpages/pseuds/amazingpages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets nervous and accidentally reveals the wrong secret. (alphalewolf's summary)</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Lips Ain't Sealed

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet was inspired by alphalewolf's wonderful [gifset](http://alphalewolf.tumblr.com/post/63478180479/stiles-gets-nervous-and-accidentally-reveals-the). Go [here](http://miss-emrys.tumblr.com/post/63647771055/alphalewolf-stiles-gets-nervous-and) to see my original post of this fic.
> 
> Also, there is a passing mention of Stiles having a panic attack in the past. I didn't think it was enough to warrant a tag, but here's a warning just in case. :)

Stiles is jolted awake by the familiar sound of his bedroom window being opened. He props himself up on one elbow and looks blearily around the dark bedroom until his eyes focus properly on the large shadow currently heaving itself inside.  
  
“Shit! No, Derek!” Stiles scrambles up, flailing for a moment when his limbs get trapped in his twisted sheets. Freeing himself, he lunges over to the window, grabbing Derek around the waist before he hits the ground. “I spent three hours cleaning the blood out of my carpet last week, asshole,” Stiles grunts as he props up the extra weight.  
  
“Lucy, I’m home,” Derek jokes trough labored breaths.  
  
Stiles snorts. “Housewife jokes, very clever.” He steers Derek over to his desk chair, making sure to lay a towel down underneath him first. Wiping blood off of fake leather is much simpler than explaining odd carpet stains. His back-up plan is always to just toss a soda onto his carpet to cover up the blood; at least he’s enough of a klutz for his dad to find it believable.  
  
Standing up, Stiles holds out his hands in a _wait here_ gesture and then scrambles quickly out of his room. He slinks down the hall, avoiding the squeaky floorboard on the left side, to grab the first aid kit from underneath the bathroom sink. By the time he returns, Derek has removed his shredded shirt and is poking at an open wound on his side.  
  
“Want to explain why you aren’t healing quickly?” Stiles asks. He opens the makeshift first aid kit, which he’d modified over the past year to include more swabs and bandages to clean and hide healing wounds than anything for actual medical treatment.  
  
“Witch’s hex,” Derek explains in his usual expounding manner.  
  
“I don’t suppose you remember what hex she used,” Stiles dead pans. The wound is a nasty one, but at least the blue-tinted edges narrow down the possible hexes that might have caused it. It’s quick work to wipe off the excess blood and lay a large bandage over it, but Stiles still spends a few extra moments with his hands on Derek, running over his smooth skin to check for any other wounds.  
  
“Kinda busy with avoiding her murderous sidekick.”  
  
Which, okay, that was fair. But it didn’t help Stiles at all right now. Derek is practically dead on his feet and there’s no way Stiles can get him back out of his house without his dad waking up. Isaac isn’t strong enough on his own and Scott really picked a convenient week to go visit colleges with his mom. And, well, he _could_ call Jackson for help, but Stiles doesn’t like dealing with the guy on any normal day, let alone in the middle of the night.  
  
“Alright,” Stiles says decisively. “Up you go.”  
  
He ignores Derek’s grunts of protest as they stand up (he’s become rather adept at differentiating between the many grunts of Derek Hale) and guides him over to the bed. Now that he’s cleaned up, the only remedy Stiles can think of is sleep, at least until they figure out what the hex was.  
  
Derek flops down onto Stiles’ bed and groans when he hits a rather sensitive spot on his side.  
  
“Stop being such a baby,” Stiles chides teasingly. He cups Derek’s jaw, holding his gaze for a few tender moments, then drops a chaste kiss on his lips before pulling away. Derek merely grunts again in response as he resettles himself more comfortably. His hand brushes Stiles’ and squeezes gently in gratitude, then drops back to the bed. Stiles pulls his comforter up over Derek’s body, ignoring how nice that sculpted chest looks between his sheets. Now is _so_ not the time for thoughts like that.  
  
After he’s sure Derek is asleep—or has at least passed out for the time being—Stiles heads back over to his desk to clean up the mess of bloody wipes and shredded fabric his boyfriend’s left behind. It really does feel like he’s been playing housewife and nursemaid for the past twenty minutes. He even just _tucked Derek in_. Laughing at himself, Stiles pulls out one of the black trash bags he keeps hidden behind his desk. It’s a lot easier to just be prepared since he constantly has to stash the bloody shirts that seem to accumulate when injured werewolves flop through his window at all hours of the night.  
  
Once his room looks marginally back to normal, aside from the werewolf currently asleep in his bed, Stiles pulls out one of the hex books he’s procured from Deaton and settles at the desk. He takes a moment to breathe a soft sigh of relief that, once again, Derek has avoided any life-threatening injuries, and then begins to pore over the book.  
  
It’s going to be a long night.  
  
Around four AM, Stiles finally falls asleep in a slump over his desk. For all that he’s laying on a glorified slab of wood, he sleeps rather well, dreaming happily of cuddling up with Derek the way they sometimes do after pack meetings once everyone else has left. The dream is actually starting to heat up when—  
  
“Stiles, there better be a _very_ good explanation for why Derek Hale is in your bed.”  
  
For the second time that day, Stiles is awoken sharply from his sleep. But the panic at seeing his father in his room right now is far worse than when Derek was crawling into it earlier that morning—and, really, how screwed up is _that_? He scrambles to hide the hex book, shuffling papers from his desk to mask the open pages.  
  
“Woah, hey, dad!”  
  
His dad is standing imposingly in the doorway, hands on his hips in the classic _don’t give me any of your shit_ pose. And, yeah, Stiles has definitely been spewing a lot of shitty lies lately. Today isn’t the first time Stiles has been caught in a rather compromising situation. He’s considered telling his dad everything. Just sitting down and spilling his guts. Every day he finds it more and more difficult to cover up his constant lies to his dad, not to mention all the werewolves in Beacon Hills that like to go apeshit on full moons.  
  
Stiles mourns for the days when the only crazy werewolf he had to worry about was his best friend. Now the whole pack seems to rely on him in one capacity or another. And more commitment to the pack means more lies to his dad. It’s an endless cycle of ‘fuck my life’. One Derek Hale currently in his bedroom is a prime example of this, although there is significantly less fucking going on with him at the moment. Unfortunately.  
  
“Well?” His dad prods impatiently.  
  
By now, Derek is awake and sitting up in Stiles’ bed, eyes wide in shock as he takes in the growing shitstorm that is Stiles’ life. Derek quickly pulls on one of Stiles’ shirts to cover up the bandage on his side, but doesn’t make any move to speak.  
  
Not telling his dad about werewolves so far has had little to do with trying to keep his dad safe (because even he can see how his dad’s ignorance is starting to put him in more and more danger) and more to do with the fact that he’d basically had a panic attack last time he’d tried to fess up to all of his lies.  
  
Going from an open, almost oversharing relationship with his father to one built around lies and secrets was a transition he hadn’t even fully realized until the damage was already done. He doesn’t know how to get back to the days when his father would groan good-naturedly as Stiles announced that he was gonna ‘drop the kids off at the pool’ on his way to the bathroom. Things just aren’t that simple anymore.  
  
Or maybe they are.  
  
“Alright, look,” Stiles says. He glances warily over at Derek, wondering if he can tell by Stiles’ heartbeat that he’s made his decision, and then realizes he really needs to be standing up to get this out. It’s going to be a long explanation, and pacing always helps him gather his thoughts. Stiles looks back over to his dad.  
  
“You see…”  
  
How does he even phrase this? Normally he’d make a joke, but this is too serious and he doesn’t want his dad to think he’s fucking around with him. Going outright and saying it just seems too harsh though. He glances at Derek again for some kind of hint, but that really just serves to illuminate how green Derek’s eyes are in the morning light. It makes him think about how they look sometimes in the moonlight—but no, that’s not what he should be focusing on! He just needs to get it out, and then he can deal with the aftermath.  
  
“For the last year,” Stiles says, “Derek and I have been dating.”  
  
There’s a stunned silence in the room after he forces the words quickly out of his mouth. Stiles is waiting for some kind of reaction, but the shocked looks on both his dad _and_ Derek faces don’t bode well. It isn’t until the silence drags on for a little too long that Stiles starts to go over what he said, thinking maybe he was a little too blunt when—  
  
 _Oh_.  
  
Oh, shit.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://miss-emrys.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
